Demons of the Mind
by Le'letha
Summary: This is my little morbid joke on the title "HalfBlood Prince". Inuyasha comes to Hogwarts, insane, bent on vengeance. He's hunting Voldemort's ally, Shikar, and using Harry as bait. PG13 for violence. Complete.
1. Silent and Unseen

_**Demons of the Mind**_

_**Le'letha**_

**Disclaimer:** The only things I own in this story are the plot, Nick, and Shikar. I snitched the rest off J.K Rowling and Rumiko Takahashi. They own it, but **I** snitched it, and they can have it back once I'm done. Hopefully I won't break it. If I do, they can probably fix it.

**Warnings:** If you don't know who Inuyasha is, that's all right. I'll explain who he is somewhere in the story. I'm assuming you're familiar with the events and characters of HP books 1 through 5; if not, I'm not gonna hold up the story to tell you who and what happens in five books.

**Author's Note:** If you're going to tell me it stinks, at least put it in legalese, ok? Thanks. Yes, for your information, I _do_ speak legalese.

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**Chapter One: Silent and Unseen**

To any causal observer, the corridors and mighty staircases of the venerable castle would have seemed deserted, save for the occasional man or woman sweeping up and down the passageways on some last minute errand. In the near darkness of evening, unlit by torch or candle, it would be difficult to see anyone clearly. As one last person quit the hallways in deference to the late hour, silence fell. The moving pictures on the wall fell silent and still. Nothing could be seen to move in the ancient castle. That did not mean there was nothing, or no one, there.

He moved silently, undetectably, up and down the passages of the castle. Wrapped in the trailing threads of his own aura, there were few living, and fewer unliving, that could even suspect his presence, much less find him. Though he shared skills with the human race, his power was different. He was separate from everything they did.

The sheer waste of power, long soaked into the stone and permanently absorbed, made his skin itch. Snarling briefly, he shuddered and moved on, scouting every inch of the castle. He trailed one clawed hand against the stone absently, thinking.

_Five hundred years this hunt has run, _he thought angrily. _It's long past time it ended. _

He pulled his gaze from the floor, where it had drifted as he thought, and twitched in slight surprise. He was facing a mirror, and to his annoyance, he could see his own reflection.

_Ah. A drawback. Remember to avoid mirrors in future. _As if he didn't already. He hated the sight of himself. Although the image was blurry, he could still see his reflection, and it was clear enough to show his eyes.

Long ago, they'd been bright golden, full of life and spirit. Now, although they still shone gold, his eyes were hellholes of rage and grief.

Snarling aloud now, he tore his gaze away and gritted his teeth. To distract himself, he leapt to the top of a staircase, balancing easily on the rail. His ears twitched as he listened for conversation, listened for one word in particular. He knew these people knew of _him_; that was why he was here. He waited impatiently, but soon gave up. He strode angrily up more stairs, looking for people, people that might not guard their conversation, being as there was no one around that they could see.

_I hate stairs._

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Carefully, silently, he entered a tower room, brushing the closed door aside without a sound. Nevertheless, the old man seated tiredly at a desk looked up sharply. His brow furrowed as he spotted the opened door.

"Who's there?" he called, a note of near-fear creeping into his voice. "Show yourself. I mean you no more harm than you mean me," he added in a warning tone.

_Idiot, _he thought, perched safely out of the man's way on a wide wooden rafter.

_I'm not talking to you. I have no use for you. And I'm not even really here. Ignore me. _

Out of habit, and the fury consuming his soul, he growled faintly with annoyance at the man's perception. Unfortunately for his remaining temper, the man heard, and took instant measures, uttering a spell with a purely unproductive wave of his wand. The intruder remained hidden, but the old man didn't give up, annoying him.

The man continued to scan the room for any uninvited guest, sending out spells of revealing, and falling back on the ever-useful biological invention of the naked eye. Still invisible, his ineffective spells brushing right past him, he clenched his fists so hard that blood ran from his palms, dripping (visibly, but unnoticed) onto the wooden rafters, and swore silently and inventively. _Shut up! _he reminded himself harshly. _Let the humans play at their war, no matter how stupid. _

Still shaken, the man took the failure of his scrutiny to mean that he was jumping at shadows, and relaxed slightly. He was still on edge, but no more than he had been before his uninvited visitor arrived.

Above, said intruder snarled silently in contempt.

_You'll get yourselves killed that way, relaxing like that. Not that I care. _He snorted scornfully.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Dismissing the intrusion from his mind, the old man reached for a silver object lying on his desk. He pulled it towards himself and tapped it musingly with his wand. Under his thoughtful, if slightly absent, gaze, smoke emitted from it, billowing out into the room. It clumped together in a vacant area, and began to clear, revealing the insubstantial forms of two boys and a girl, all around sixteen.

From the rafters, he watched the three teenagers directly under his nose closely, leaning over slightly. _Hmm, _he thought. _So these are them, huh. Feh. Knack for trouble, all three of them. They reek of it, even in an illusion. _

Imprinting the images into his mind as they faded away, he looked down at the old man, who was tapping frantically at some other gadget. It didn't seem to be working, however; no matter how hard or how fast the man struck it with his wand, it simply sat there. Finally, annoyed out of his composure, he whacked it with the flat of his hand. It emitted an annoyed squeak and began to create more fog, which would have amused the watcher in the rafters had he not been beyond amusement…and had not the mist taken the form it did.

Biting his lip to keep from growling in hatred, he dug sharp claws into the wood he perched on, digging deep furrows into the rafter. Eyes locked on the shape produced from the mist, he neither noticed, nor would he have cared had he discovered, that he had really bitten his lip, and blood was flowing smoothly down his face, which was twisted into a horrific caricature of rage.

_Shikar! The hunt is not over yet! You will pay!_

His aura flared with his fury, and for a few seconds, anyone watching would have dimly seen a humanoid form manifest itself, and then fade away again as he got control over himself, and focused on the old man, deliberately not looking at the illusion of his mortal enemy.

"Shikar…" the man murmured softly to himself. "What will you do? How can we stop you? We cannot have our enemy keep such a powerful ally, and yet we cannot fight you. You must be stopped because of your power, and yet we cannot confront you because of it." He rested his head in his hands and sighed, exhausted in body and mind, unseen by mortal eyes. The only one to bear witness to his little breakdown had no sympathy whatsoever.

_You've been fighting him for two months, _he thought coldly. _Shikar is mine. He has been for five hundred years and more. I warn you now. I have no interest in your little squabble with your own. It's only because Shikar is here that I am. I'm not going to help you. I don't _need _to hurt you, as of now. But if you get underfoot, I'll step on you._

Silently, he rose from his crouch. Closing haunted golden eyes, he shot one last hate-filled glance at the fading image of the lizard-like Shikar. As he vanished from the castle that those that knew it call Hogwarts, and he called a trap, one final thought lingered, though none could hear it.

_It's almost ready. It will soon be over._


	2. Enter Nick

**Chapter Two: Enter Nick **

"I have been riding- this- train for six- years." Harry muttered irritably to himself as he stalked down the corridors of the Hogwarts Express train, Ginny Weasley in patient tow. "You'd think I could find one vacant compartment." He stopped short as she broke into hysterical chuckles, leaning against the wall as she tried to stop.

"Stop laughing at me!" he ordered, annoyed.

She managed to stop laughing with an effort, though she continued to hiccup at random moments.

"Stop making me hic laugh, then!"

"It's not funny!"

"Is so! Come on, don't give up, there's got to be room for us hic somewhere. How about _I_ look, and then _you_ can laugh at me." hic

Harry thought about this.

"Fine."

She squeezed by him and headed off down the train, glancing into each compartment as she passed it.

"Hic."

Harry gritted his teeth and tried to ignore it.

"Hic."

"Can't you do something about those hiccups?" he asked before they'd gone much further.

"I would if I could, believe me. Here, look," she said, quickly changing the subject as she stopped outside a compartment. They looked in through the glass sliding doors. "There's only one person in here. Think he'll mind us joining him? Funny. I don't recognize him, do you?"

Harry looked at the boy within. He couldn't see his face, as it was turned away, looking out the window, but he could see two things; that he had light brown hair, and was completely unfamiliar.

"Nope, I don't recognize him either. Who do you think he is?"

"No idea." Ginny opened the door forestalling further pointless shilly-shallying before it could waste more time.

"Um, hello. Are you saving these seats for anyone else, or can we join you?"

The boy looked around in surprise. He had deep, dark brown eyes, almost black, and a slim face. If Harry were to guess his age, he would have said sixteen, though that couldn't be right. Any sixteen-year-old would have been in his Year at school, and he knew all of them by name. This kid was a complete stranger.

"Please, by all means," he gestured politely with the air of someone inviting an unexpected, but welcome, guest into his mansion.

"Nicholas Lendal," he introduced himself simply, extending a hand in their direction as they seated themselves on the bench across from him. "Nick," he amended with a shrug.

Ginny clasped his hand briefly. "Ginny Weasley," she replied in kind. Nick blinked, not as if in surprise, but as if storing it in a mental register of some sort.

Harry took a mental deep breath, though he'd learned long since not to show it externally. "Harry Potter," he said, shaking Nick's hand in turn.

To Harry's relief, and somewhat surprise, Nick reacted in exactly the same way that he had to Ginny's name. A blink, a nod, a general smile at both of them.

"Pleased to meet you both," he said happily.

There was something about Nick that made frankness completely natural. "I don't recognize you," Harry said baldly.

"I'd be surprised if you did. I'm new this year. Transferred into sixth year. My family just moved into the area, you see," he explained.

"Sixth year? Well, you're a grade ahead of me," Ginny said. "In Harry's year though," she added cheerfully. "What house were you put in? do you know yet?"

"Professor Dumbledore put me in Gryffindor. Are either of you in…" his sentence trailed off with a curious expression.

"Both of us," said Harry. Nick smiled curiously.

"Then perhaps can I say, I have friends there?"

"Of course you can!" Ginny assured him, and was rewarded by Nick's happy smile.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

They spent a good half-hour telling Nick everything they could think of about Hogwarts, its teachers, its students, its classes…everything. Surprisingly, they learned very little about Nick, despite his general friendliness. In thirty minutes, they learned only that he was interested in the class Care of Magical Creatures, but he loved to learn in general.

"Everything about anything," he had said with a laugh, in reply to Harry's inquiry about what his favorite class was. "Everything 101!"

"Hermione's going to like him," Harry had muttered quietly to Ginny out of the corner of his mouth, but Nick had heard regardless. She laughed as Nick bombarded Harry with more questions. Who was Hermione? Who else was their specific friend? Would Hermione and Ron be joining them later? Where were they now?

Nick's fervent questions about Hermione and Ron were interrupted only by the arrival of said pair, who entered the compartment once again looking as though the train had fallen on them.

"As I recall, you two looked like this at the same time last year, remember?" he teased them.

"Shut up, Harry," Ron said absently and without rancor, more out of habit than anything else. "Who're you?" he added, blinking at Nick.

So once again, they went through the whole little routine of who are you, oh you're new here, oh nice to meet you Nick.

"I should just put a big flashing neon sign on my head saying Hi I'm Nick Lendal I'm New Here, Who Are You? he laughed.

"You'd still get questions," Hermione informed him. "And for your information, Harry, we have a perfect right to look like this.'

"Oh, why?" Ginny enquired sweetly. "Nothing gives you the right to look like you had to run after the train for five miles. 'Cause that's how you two look, Hermione, no joke."

"I didn't deserve that, Ginny. If you knew how many more _prefect duties_-that's not funny, Ron, stop the gagging noises- they've piled on us this year, you'd sympathize more."

"What duties have they 'piled on' you?" Nick asked with interest, and was instantly shushed by everyone else.

"Nick, shush, don't set her off!" everyone scolded laughingly, except for Hermione, who sighed long-sufferingly, but didn't elaborate.

By the time they were halfway to Hogwarts, Nick Lendal was as deeply entrenched in Harry's little circle of friends as if he'd been there all his life.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Nick smoothly ingratiated himself into the Welcoming Feast as well. Oddly, no one seemed to mind his incessant questions. Indeed, everyone seemed almost eager to show off all their know-how, pointing out teachers, ghosts, even the ceiling. Nick heard at least four times that the ceiling reflected the sky outside, but he never seemed to tire of hearing it. He listened rapturously to whoever was speaking, no matter who. It took him approximately five minutes, maybe even less, to have everyone sitting in the palm of his hand.

"Remarkable," Hermione muttered in Harry's ear, watching Nick. "He's got everyone falling over themselves to be nice to him. How does he do that?"

"No idea."

As he glanced over at Nick, who for a short while wasn't listening to anyone, and was instead looking around with interest, examining the Great Hall closely, Harry shuddered.

_Whoa! What was that? For a second, Nick 'felt' weird. Like he was someone else for a moment. The Great Hall's not that interesting. What's he so riveted by?_

An instant later, Harry was ashamed of his suspicions. _Getting paranoid, _he scolded himself sternly. _Be a little more trusting, why don't you? You can't live in a little bubble. And he's not half so odd as some of your other friends. Luna Lovegood, as example? Nick's just new: of course he'd be interested in everything. So were you._

Harry resolutely shoved his suspicions out of his head and grinned at Nick, who'd noticed his scrutiny and had his head cocked on one side, brow furrowed questioningly.

Harry shook his head, not even trying to speak over the cacophonous talking of the rest of the students in the school. Nick shrugged and went back to examining the Hall.

Resolutely, Harry dismissed his misgivings and returned to the real world, just in time to stop Ron pinching his dessert from right under his nose.


	3. Cries In The Night

**Chapter Three: Cries in the Night**

A month later, Nick was up to his elbows in anything Hogwarts. Remarkably, the teachers had merely shrugged, said their equivalents of 'hi,' and treated him like one of the class, which, in all honesty, he was. Even Snape had merely said 'hmph,' and ignored him.

"Is the professor always like that?" Nick asked concernedly, and somewhat naïvely, as soon as they were far out of earshot. "Did I do something wrong?"

"You're new, and you're in Gryffindor," Ron reminded him. "Snape's always in that kind of mood. You're really lucky he didn't make an example of you. My advice is, keep your head down!"

"Ok," Nick agreed passively, much to their relief.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO **

"He adapts," Hermione decided, watching Nick vanish up the staircase to the boys' dormitory one evening. "And whatever he can't adapt to, he charms."

The three of them, Hermione, Ron, and Harry, were sitting by the fire finishing their homework. That is, at least, Hermione was finishing her homework, and was beginning to nag the boys about theirs.

Harry shifted his weight uncomfortably. The Case of Nick was still bothering him. He fidgeted for a few seconds more, then decided abruptly to tell his friends about his suspicions.

"Yeah. But he's almost…_too _friendly, if you know what I mean."

"Too friendly? Harry, what _do_ you mean?" Ron asked skeptically.

"I don't know how to put it. Does he seem _strange_ to you?"

"Define strange."

"Strange, um, um, strange…Hermione, think back. Have you ever looked at him and gotten the shivers for a moment? Like he's someone else for a second?"

"Someone else? You think he's schizophrenic? Or possessed?"

"Skit-zo- what? Say that again in Greek and I might understand you better," Ron snorted.

"You don't speak Greek, and neither do I. It means he's got two separate personalities."

Harry shook his head. "Possessed is probably closer. Neither of you have felt that little shiver? No? Are you sure? Because either I'm going crazy again, something weird is going on, or I'm just the only one noticing it."

Hermione stared into the fire thoughtfully. "Maybe… wait a moment while I think…"

The boys duly waited as she sat rigid, her entire posture that of concentration, eyes narrowed as she looked intently into the depths of the flames.

"Got it," she said finally, looking up at them. "Ok, Harry, either you're right, or we're both insane together. I've noticed it too, but it's very subtle."

"Oh, well that helps," Harry muttered. "We're down to two options now. What did you notice?"

"Just one incident," Hermione mused. "He was standing out on the grounds, staring in the direction of the forest. I was some way off, so I couldn't see too well, but suddenly I could almost feel this" she shuddered. "_wave_ of malice. That sounds really overdramatic, but I swear that's what happened. Does that sound ridiculous? It does, doesn't it?" she amended with an apologetic smile.

"No, it sounds fine to me," Harry said grimly. "Malice… yes, good word. That's almost exactly what I felt, though never so spectacular. I've noticed a sense of 'otherness,' something really alien about him, and not just because he's relatively new. It's something else."

"Whoa, whoa, you're saying Nick is possessed by something? You don't imagine that- that-V…" Ron continued to sputter pathetically, but his friends got the point.

"Could be," Harry said grimly. "Or one of his allies- remember this summer, Dumbledore warned us about that guy Shikar?"

"We could just be jumping at shadows here, you know- no, I guess not," she said hurriedly at the looks on her friends' faces. "So what are we going to do about it? Until we have proof of, well, anything, there's nothing we can do. And look what happened last time we took matters into our own hands!"

Instantly, Hermione knew she had gone too far. Harry rose from his seat, picked up his books in stony silence, and wordlessly went upstairs.

"Sorry," Hermione whispered belatedly after him, mortified.

"Smooth, Hermione," Ron said scornfully. "Smooth."

Hermione moaned and buried her face in her hands.

"I didn't mean to say that," she whispered over and over. "Oh, he's going to be so mad at me- I can't believe I said that…"

"Why did you?" Ron inquired.

"I didn't like hearing him accuse a friend of ours like that…but that was so thoughtless of me…"

"Yeah, it was," agreed Ron, Master of Tact, "He'll get over it though. I'll wait a while before going up to bed too. Then he can at least pretend to be asleep."

Hermione nodded agreement, and packed up her supplies, and set off for the girls' dormitories, leaving Ron sitting alone by the fire.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Harry pulled his covers over his head and sat in a blanket tent, pretty mad. _How could she have said that?_ He seethed for a while in silence, but dropped off to sleep even before Ron came cautiously up.

_He was dreaming, wasn't he? Darkness churned about him, above, below, everywhere he looked._

_Alone._

_Pain._

_Grief._

_Madness._

_The darkness screamed in agony, crying out. The echoes faded to be replaced by a new sound, heart-wrenching, sorrowful._

_The sound of someone crying; a boy crying, with no one to hear him, no one to hide his tears from. _

_He hung on the edge of hell itself._

Sitting up sharply, Harry woke, shuddering. The dream swiftly fled his memory, leaving behind only one thing.

He could still hear the crying.

Quietly, in case it was one of his friends, he peeked out through the narrow gap in his heavy canopies. All seemed well. Everyone in the dormitory lay asleep, and silent.

Wait. No.

Nick sat awake, knees drawn up to his chest, staring out the window with a look of sorrow on his face. Yet it had not been Nick's voice crying out in such pain.

"You hear him too."

Harry had no reason to assume that this was so. He had blurted it out without even thinking, but he was sure that Nick had, and was still hearing, the cries.

"Yes." Nothing more.

"Who is he? And why does he cry so?"

Nick shook his head slowly.

"How would I know? I cannot say."

Harry sighed. The dreadful sounds were fading away now, but the memory of them remained. "A ghost perhaps, though not one I've encountered here before. I feel sorry for him, whoever and whatever he is or was."

"A ghost. That is a good explanation. Perhaps."

He shuddered. _What torment must he have gone through, to leave such an echo of his cries? I wonder what happened. I'll probably never know._

Harry pulled his canopies closed and tried to settle back down. But it was a long time before he could push the echoes of the boy's tormented weeping out of his ears long enough for him to go back to sleep.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Loose on the slopes of the empty hills surrounding the castle, he stood, the moonlight making him appear transparent. His hair shone with the moon's light, making his pale white mane glow with the moon's radiance. His eyes, however, burned with more than the reflection of the moon. They glowed with the very fires of hell itself. Had anyone seen him, not knowing what they saw, and escaped with their life, they would have said that one of hell's own demons ran loose from the Pit.

His already insubstantial form flickered and vanished as he lifted his tortured face up to the night sky and howled with grief like a creature of the wilderness.


	4. A Very Hound Of Hell'

**Chapter Four: 'A Very Hound of Hell' **

Hermione made a point of apologizing profusely to Harry over breakfast next morning, Friday.

"Forget about it," he said absently, internally debating whether to tell them or not about the cries he'd heard last night.

_No, _he decided, _they'll just think I'm going crazy. I say that I hear things far too often anyway._

"Friday!" someone said happily somewhere down the table.

"Oh, good, an easy day," Hermione mused, running down her schedule.

"Hey, it's tryouts this weekend," Harry remembered out loud. "Anyone thinking of trying out for the team?" he asked the table at large.

"Nope, you guys spend far too much time in the rain and mud for me to want to join you," Seamus joked, to general laughter.

"What about you, Nick, are you any good?" Dean asked across the table.

"Not me! I belong on a broomstick the way a fish belongs up a tree," Nick countered, mostly jokingly. "Really, no joke." He added, still grinning, "I like watching, but actually up that high… Not my thing at all!"

"Hey, Harry," Ron mentioned, "I'm going out to the pitch this evening to practice a little before the season actually starts. D'you want to join me?"

"Sure, after dinner, though."

"Is that entirely wise?"

"Come on, Hermione, how many times have you bullied us into eating something before a game? It won't hurt us, I seem to remember you saying."

Hermione huffed indignantly about being so set aside for a brief moment, then forgot about it as the boys continued to talk Quidditch. Sports jabber was not interesting for her this early in the morning.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

The evening was overcast, not quite threatening rain, but enough to make the entire stadium look gloomy. Harry and Ron, accompanied by Hermione for no reason whatsoever, headed down to the field carrying their brooms and uniforms, talking about who might try out for the team this year. Considering that quite a lot of their team had graduated last year, there were quite a few vacant positions.

When they reached the stadium, the boys headed off in the direction of the dressing rooms to change into their robes. Hermione seated herself against the stands and pulled out an ever-present textbook.

"Hermione, that's not due till next week!" Harry laughed, startling her by zooming right over her head on his Firebolt broom.

"Just because you procrastinate everything doesn't mean I have to!" she yelled back, breathing hard from her surprise. He ignored her and did a loop-the-loop in midair as Ron joined him in flight.

The boys goofed off for another five minutes before they remembered that they were supposed to be practicing. Harry dived to ground level to get the ball, while Ron took up goal-keeping position in front of the three large hoops a long way up in the air. From the sound of their laughter as they threw and caught the ball, it was obvious that this wasn't really a practice session. They were more having fun than anything else.

"How they can stand that is beyond me," a cool voice observed.

"Hi, Nick."

"You don't fly?"

"Sports are not my thing. I'd rather read."

"So I see."

"Hi, Nick!" Harry called down, distracted.

"Having fun up there!" Nick shouted up at them.

"You bet!" Ron shouted, at the exact same time Harry responded, "We're _practicing!_"

"Could have fooled me!"

"Silence, Nick," Harry replied with mock sternness, "or Ron and I will tie you to a broom and fly you in circles!"

"Yeah right!"

"And what would stop me?" Harry enquired, still pretending to be a judge.

"No rope!" Nick volleyed right back with the air of a prisoner presenting an unshakeable alibi, which indeed it was.

"He's got you there, Harry." Ron agreed, laughing.

Lightning suddenly flashed across the stormy sky, and thunder growled threateningly soon after, though no rain fell.

"Uh oh," Ron muttered. "Quitting time, you think?"

"Yeah, how about it?"

They dived for the ground, swooping into the changing room through the door they'd left ajar. Suddenly the evening seemed much darker as they changed hurriedly back into normal clothes.

As they ran out of the dressing room, they both stopped short. The instant they'd crossed the threshold, they had been plunged into pitch darkness.

"What the…" Ron muttered, "What's happened?"

"I have happened," said a smooth, cruel, voice. As it spoke, the darkness lifted somewhat, leaving them in a murky grey twilight. They could now see Hermione and Nick, who weren't actually that far away, as they'd come over to the doorway to wait for them. They were both standing stock still, staring at a glowing figure that was approaching them ominously.

The person was mainly humanoid, though with significant differences. For one, glowing green scales festooned his arms, laced through with darker, dustier green in no discernable pattern; easily visible because of the short-sleeved black tunic he wore. His eyes had no pupils, and were merely ovals of muddy orange. Brighter sparks swam through them, glinting in the evening's indirect light. His face was intelligent and manipulative, a bad combination in anyone.

As he strode towards the four of them, a lizard's tongue slithered out of his mouth and back in again rapidly. _Flick._

"Shikar," someone whispered. A second later, they realized it was Nick.

"So you are the three that he wants dead," Shikar hissed fluidly. Despite his reptilian tongue, he did not hiss S's as might be expected.

"I can't think why, little as you are. And a spare, an extra, hmm. Disappointing. And I did try so hard to get you on your own," he rambled.

"Cover for me," Nick breathed quietly from behind them.

"What are you doing? You can't fight him! Not even the four of us together would have a snowball's chance in a supernova if we took him on!" Harry replied quietly, keeping one eye on the still verbally wandering Shikar.

Unexpectedly, Shikar's eyes snapped into tight focus, and he smirked.

"Come now, you didn't think I was that scatter-minded?" he hissed deliberately, mocking them. "Now that is disappointing."

He tensed as if to leap, only a few meters from the foursome.

Abruptly, Ron, Harry, and Hermione were shoved aside as Nick leapt forward.

"Shikar!" he shouted.

He drew a dagger out of his right sleeve with his left hand and brandished it at Shikar, who had stopped short, shocked at the audacity of the pitiful human.

He wasn't the only one.

"What does he think he's doing?" Hermione gasped. "He can't fight Shikar with a dinky little knife like that!"

Nick didn't intend to touch Shikar.

"Run like the murdering coward you are!" he cried, reversing his grip on the dagger so that it pointed back at him. "For I set upon your heels a very hound of hell!"

He gripped the dagger tightly and drove it into his right shoulder, dragging it diagonally across his chest. Blood spurted across the green field and onto Shikar, whose eyes had widened in comprehension and definitely something a lot like fear.

Nick collapsed on the ground, lying face down in a pool of his own blood, having just pulled the blade from his own heart. Behind him, Harry, Ron, and Hermione stared in horror and shock as more blood stained the grass, steaming.

Steaming quite a lot, indeed, more like fog…

Shikar had turned tail and was fleeing across the field…

The fog that had come from Nick's lifeblood intensified, and a solid form began to consolidate from it. Rapidly, the fog vanished, leaving behind a person, who stood with eyes closed.

He was about their height, appearing no more than sixteen. Seen in profile, his face had an oddly canine cast to it. A long mane of bluish-white hair spilled over his red-clad shoulders, reaching almost to his waist, which bore a sheathed katana. Vivid white scars stood out across his throat. He would have looked fairly human were it not for the long claws on the ends of his fingers and his ears; no human ears, but dog's ears like a husky's on his scalp. He stood for a brief moment with eyes closed and head down.

Shikar was standing halfway up the stadium seats, watching in shock.

The demon boy's eyes sprang open. Shining bright gold, more canine than human, they focused instantly on the lizard-like man still standing rigid, with a hunter's gaze.

"Look out, Shikar! I swore I'd kill you and here I am," he cried out, leaping into motion, dashing across the field in pursuit of his foe.

Shikar turned and fled, leaping over the back edge of the seats.

The boy didn't blink twice. Coming up on the seats, he tensed and sprung, clearing the sky-scraping bleachers in one leap, and vanishing over the edge with another. A few seconds later, a howl wafted back to Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

Nick lay still, and smiled.

"He's loose," Nick murmured to himself. "Inuyasha… bring Shikar down…" And he began to laugh weakly until he fell unconscious once more.


	5. HalfBlood Wild Child

**Chapter Five: Half-Blood Wild Child **

Nick's laughter brought them out of their shocked stupor.

"Oh my gosh!" Hermione shrieked, somewhat belatedly. "Ron, run! Go to the castle, get Madam Pomfrey, now! Harry, go tell Professor Dumbledore what happened, he listens to you! Run!"

The boys took off automatically, speeding across the grounds in record time.

"What did happen?" Harry panted.

"I dunno…"

They split up at the entrance, Ron up to the hospital wing, Harry towards the headmaster's office. Harry skidded to a stop at the familiar gargoyle that guarded the staircase to Professor Dumbledore's study. He gritted his teeth as he remembered that the password had probably been changed again.

"I haven't got time for a guessing game!" he shouted irritably. "Something weird has happened. And Shikar's here!"

As he'd expected, that got its attention. It moved aside in a hurry, and he darted up the stairs behind.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir," he gasped as he opened the door, "Shikar…" he was too winded to say anything more.

Behind the desk, Professor Dumbledore leapt to his feet. "Harry, what's going on? What about Shikar?"

"Here…but Nick…something possessing him…hunting…"

Dumbledore waved his wand in one of those complicated little maneuvers Harry would never understand, and a chair appeared behind him, which he gratefully sank into to catch his breath.

"I don't understand! Shikar is here! But I would know!"

"Professor, he's here all right, he attacked us, or he was going to," Harry clarified, having got his wind back. "Ron and Hermione and I were down on the Quidditch pitch, goofing off sort of- Nick joined us later. When the lightning went off we were coming in, but Shikar intercepted us. He looked just like you showed us," he said, distracted briefly. "Anyway," he continued, seeing Dumbledore's expression, "he was going to attack us, but Nick pulled a knife out of his sleeve, and this is going to sound weird, but I swear it's what happened, he stabbed himself, and a mist came out of him and became a boy. Not human, though, he looked at least half dog. Whatever he was, Shikar ran off, and whatever it was went after him."

"Is Nick all right?" Dumbledore asked first.

"I don't know sir, Ron went to fetch Madam Pomfrey; I came here."

"Yes, of course. Come, Harry; Nick will no doubt be in the hospital wing by now, and I need answers. You told your story very clearly, but whoever this boy is, he's someone and something I do not know, and a random factor like that is dangerous in a war. To both sides, luckily; he could be on ours," he added as they left the office and went down the flight of stairs.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Nick was indeed safely in the hospital wing, and alive to boot.

"I don't know what he thought he was doing," Madam Pomfrey was muttering to herself and anyone who cared to listen, which was no one, as they came in.

"Is he all right?" Dumbledore asked her.

"Oh, he'll live, but he's not leaving here for a good long while."

"I need to talk to him. Can you wake him safely?"

"I don't recommend it, but I can."

"Do it, please."

Muttering under her breath, the nurse delicately poured a thick syrup, no doubt foul-tasting, into Nick's mouth. Within moments of swallowing it, his dark eyes opened.

"What happened?" were the first words out of his mouth.

"That's what I'd like to know," Dumbledore intervened.

"No. Shikar! Is he dead yet?"

"Dead?" the headmaster inquired.

"Yeah. Dead. Did Inuyasha bring him down yet?"

"Who?" Everyone asked all at once.

"Look, I'll tell you everything if you tell me one thing. Is Shikar dead?"

"I don't know," Dumbledore began to say, but was cut off by a horrible sound.

One of the windows in the hospital wing had been left open, and so it happened that the five of them heard the shriek of grief, pain, and complete rage.

"Oh no," Nick gasped, and smiled scornfully, pityingly. "A fine day's work indeed. In one fell swoop he is robbed of his cover, his chance, and his prey."

"Nick." Professor Dumbledore said sternly. "Your story, please."

"Ok," he said placidly.

"About a year ago, or maybe less, my family moved to this general area. We couldn't know that we'd settled in Shikar's 'territory,' I guess you could say. He must have been hungry one day or something, because he attacked me when I was out hiking.

"I thought I was dead, and I would have been had not Shikar made an enemy a long time back. Inuyasha, his name is, and I think he's half dog-demon, it makes sense. We don't have demons round here, luckily enough, but they're both from a long way off. No idea where. Anyway, he didn't mean to save my life, he meant to kill Shikar. As it happens, the goals coincided.

"Also as it happens, it wasn't even really Shikar, just a _very_ lifelike illusion. It fooled me; hey, it fooled Inuyasha too, and he's not easily deceived. He was furious when it dissolved beneath his claws- I imagine that's what happened here too. Now, see, debts are a big thing in my family. You owe someone your life, you help them out. What Inuyasha wanted most was to kill Shikar. He had a plan, but he needed a human confederate. That's me.

"Now see, he's clever. His magic isn't human magic; he can do things we can't. He concealed his very soul in mine- I can't explain it, I don't think he even knows what he's doing-, and we came here. Sorry, Harry, you've been bait for a good while now," he added with a grin. "The logic's simple. Shikar's Voldemort's ally; one of his major goals is to wipe you off the face of the earth. He hasn't had much success with that- well done on that by the way- so he'll send an underling. Voila, he has this new powerful ally, Shikar. Shikar goes for you, Inuyasha cuts him off, and, knowing Inuyasha, which I don't really, cuts him up, too." Nick chuckled at his own feeble joke. "Sorry, I don't know anything else. I don't even know why he hates Shikar so much. I got an impression of revenge for a friend, but that may or may not be true. You know, my chest is really starting to hurt again. Can I go back to sleep? Thanks."

Nick pulled the white sheets over himself without waiting for permission, closed his eyes, and was instantly asleep, or at least doing a pretty good imitation of it.

"Professor?" Hermione asked. "Do you know who this Inuyasha is? I've never heard of him."

"I knew he existed, little more. Even his name barely rang a bell. He has nothing to do with the human race, so he's not a threat of any kind. For him to actually use a human like this is unheard of, as far as I remember. I know nothing else. If you happen to come across anything in your reading, I would be delighted to hear it."

Without another word, he rose and left.

"What a story," Ron said, stunned.

"We guessed, didn't we? We said he was possessed, but I never would have expected such as this," realized Hermione.

"Who could have? We have not heard the last of this…"

"Right, I'm going down to the library. I'll let you know if I find anything tomorrow."

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

She found nothing.

"But I've still got places I can look," she said reassuringly next morning. "Once I'm done with breakfast I'm going right back."

And, stuffing a last bite of toast into her mouth, she did just that.

"Now there's dedication," Ron observed.

"Yeah, but I kind of see where she's coming from this time. This we're right in the middle of. Hey, at least she's not pestering us to come help."

"True."

"I'm going to go look in on Nick," Harry decided abruptly. "See you later."

He headed up to the hospital wing, thinking hard. He did not like this at all, especially the idea of being bait. Nick knew more than he'd told, he was sure of it.

"Nick?" he asked the room at large, poking his head around the door, which was ajar as usual.

"Nope, not here, sorry, just missed him. He ran away to Hawaii." Nick responded cheerily from a bed near one of the windows.

"Nick, stop," Harry sighed.

"What?"

"You over-did it a little."

"Sorry. Why are you up here?"

"Just came to check on you. You really scared us, you know that?"

"Probably. But I'm fine, really. Now you've told your cover story, why are you really up here? Let me guess. You want to know more about what's going on."

"Yeah," Harry muttered, sitting down on the end of Nick's bed.

"Well, I really did tell everything I know last night. To find out anything more, you'd have to ask Inuyasha, and I don't recommend that at all. He'll be in a killer mood right now. Give him a week or so to get over it. It's strange, though," he drifted off, "not having him sitting right over my shoulder all the time."

"What was it like?" Harry asked out of curiosity.

"He was only there in a way I could actually hear him part of the time, you see. Most of the time I couldn't even tell he was there. When I could, it was more a sense of someone standing right behind me…have you ever felt that? Creepy feeling. I could hear him talking when he had something to say, but he didn't often. He couldn't control me physically, so he had to ask me to look at things for him. He would look through my eyes."

"Would it be wise to go out and look for him?"

"No! He'll be furious at falling for Shikar's trick like that. And besides," Nick added, his voice deadly serious, "he'll be grieving again. He'll have retreated into himself, and there's nothing but time as can call him back from that. Harry, listen. You don't want to deal with him more than you have to. He's _completely insane._ Completely. From the impressions I got, nothing definite really, he exists in his own little corner of hell. He lives for only two reasons. To kill Shikar, and because he cannot kill himself. Did you see the scars across his throat? His own claws did that. Be very, very careful. There's nothing as can save you if he decides he wants you dead."

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Harry wandered the corridors of Hogwarts aimlessly, Nick's words still ringing in his head.

_What kind of tragedy, _he wondered, _what horror, could have driven him mad? I don't know whether to fear him or pity him. Perhaps both. _

He made his way outside onto the lawn, letting the sun spill over him. The Forbidden Forest caught his attention, and he looked hard at it as if trying to see the demon-child it surely contained. Of course, no such person could be seen.

…_his own little corner of hell…_

Harry shuddered, then turned at the sound of approaching feet.

"There you are," Ron greeted him. "We've been looking for you."

"Why? Hermione, are you ok?"

Her face was a mask of horror and grief.

"Yes, but look. I found this." She held out a small brown book.

"What is it? Did you find the information you were looking for?"

"Better. Or worse." She flipped to a page and held it out. "Does this look like a familiar face to you?"

It was a hand-sketched picture, pretty good quality. But it was what it depicted that Hermione wanted him to see.

It was a sketch of a group of people, gathered around a campfire, clearly just talking, just as clearly enjoying each other's company. Harry's eyes were drawn to one face in particular. It was clearly the same boy- _Inuyasha,_ Harry fixed in his mind- that they had seen yesterday, but with significant differences. In the sketch, he sat beside a girl, a content look on his face, both watching the fire burn. She was smiling openly, watching him out of the corner of her eye. It was clear she adored him. The Inuyasha they had seen had looked like hell had spit him out.

"It's a first-hand account of what happened five hundred years ago," Hermione continued. "Believe me, if you only knew…you would not only let him kill Shikar, you would cheer him on."

"Nick said he was completely insane."

"I don't blame him. I won't read you the whole thing, because only about half of it matters right now, but I bookmarked some. It's the journal of a girl named Sango. She and several others traveled with him for quite some time. She actually listed the names of those in the pack with short descriptions-"

"Pack?" Ron interrupted.

"I guess that's how they thought of themselves, and you do have to know who these people are to really understand what happened.

"Sango herself," Hermione introduced, pointing out an older girl in the sketch, "didn't include a self-description, but she was a demon-slayer who seems almost like one of the voices of reason…a kind person, generous, loyal, but proud.

"Miroku, she describes as 'supposedly a monk, but his morals leave something to be desired. If he'd keep his hands off me, I'd like him just fine.

"This little one is 'Shippo, a orphaned fox-demon who never learns to stand out of arm's reach. A bit of a mischief.

"She manages to sum up Inuyasha in one sentence, albeit a long one, and I quote, 'arrogant, obstinate, temperamental, and probably exactly what they had in mind when they coined the term "wild child," he's nevertheless a good person to have at your back, and he would kill or die for Kagome.

"Kagome, here," she indicated the girl seated next to Inuyasha, "I gather is the source of his vendetta. Sango depicts her as 'a time-traveler with a sixth sense for a lot, a dead shot with her bow, and really far too patient with Inuyasha, who she adores.'"

"Ok, so what happened? Hurry up, Hermione; we're right in the middle of this whole thing. Get a move on," Ron encouraged, bored with descriptions.

Hermione sighed and began to read from her first bookmark.


	6. Poor Wretched Creature'

**Chapter Six: 'Poor Wretched Creature'**

_(Author's Note: This really should be in the format of a journal entry told from Sango's point of view. However, due to my complete inability to write in first person, and my sense of drama, I have Changed My Mind. (Ha! I get to do that if I want to!) It has now been translated into third person omniscient and given free rein. Thanks & sorry. Signed, **Le'letha**.)_

It was definitely the sun lancing into her eyes that woke her. Groaning slightly, Kagome sat up and rubbed her aching eyes. Automatically, she glanced around the small room she shared with her four friends and one pet cat. It would appear that nobody else was awake. They all lay quietly on the wooden floor under travel-worn blankets or sat against the wall, slumped over. Reasonably sure no one was watching, she stretched luxuriously and smiled.

_You almost look like you're going to purr, _a voice remarked in her head.

_Do not! _she retorted, automatically responding on the same telepathic link, established by complete accident a while back.

_Do so._

Knowing that this was exactly the type of repetitive, pointless argument he would win by sheer bullheaded stubbornness, she refrained from responding and looked slightly to one side. Fairly close to her, but far enough so that no one would comment- though everyone knew that it was an excellent way to start another dispute- her best friend lay apparently sleeping, head pillowed on his arms. She knew better.

_How long have you been awake? _she asked curiously.

_I'm not._

_Yes, you are._

_Prove it._

_You're talking to me._

_That can be changed if you'd like._

_And if I don't? _she inquired in the stupidest street-slang of her native time, adopting a silly mental accent she'd invented on the spot simply because she knew it would confuse him._  
_

There was a brief pause in the telepathic conversation while he sorted out the meaning of that mouthful of nonsense.

_Feh, _he eventually responded silently. She decided to interpret that, correctly, as it happened, as 'say what?' and an end to the conversation.

_Whatever, _she thought privately. _It's too early for his stubbornness. _

Stretching again- and thinking loudly _Not one word out of you_- she rose and padded over to her backpack, looking for clothes to wear. Dragging a change of clothes out of the very bottom of her bag, she went outside to change out of her nightclothes in private. As she turned around to close the door behind her, she smiled indulgently as she noticed that one of Inuyasha's dog-ears had twitched in her direction, tracking her by sound alone.

When she got back, she was not at all surprised to see that most everyone else was awake, except for Shippo, who was still curled in a furry ball, using his bushy fox-tail as a pillow. She was greeted by a chorus of 'good morning' from Miroku and Sango, and a 'miaow' from Kilala.

"Which way are we going today?" she asked. "I've forgotten, if I ever knew."

"North, into the mountains," Miroku responded, ready for the day. "Do we wait for Shippo to get up, or does someone want to carry him?"

"Leave him here, he'll catch up," Inuyasha suggested in a sullen mutter, knowing full well that nobody was listening to him.

"You won't do that!" Shippo protested, sitting up abruptly. "Kagome won't let you," he added confidently, sure he had an unshakeable argument.

"Fox, do you want to start another one-sided fight before you're even two minutes awake?" Inuyasha responded far too pleasantly.

"I've been awake longer than that. Bully," he muttered, scampering to Kagome, who picked him up and settled him on her shoulder, perched on her backpack as usual.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Several hours later, moving on toward noon, the ragtag pack of humans and demons were a good distance away from where they'd started. It was a relatively peaceful day, if a little cloudy, threatening light rain maybe later that evening. Though they hadn't even gotten a quarter of the way to their somewhat vague destination- 'the mountains' were a big place, after all- the land was already beginning to change, becoming more rocky and slightly less forested, though there wasn't really a noticeable difference.

And, of course, there was the other definition of 'peaceful,' and quite frankly the one that made the most difference. It was unusually quiet, no animals, no people, and definitely no demons.

"Strange. It's been a while since we've had a quiet day of hiking like this," Sango mused aloud, breaking the silence.

"It's nice though. No battles, no risk of our lives, no psychotic maniacs trying to kill us…" Miroku joked.

"We need more days like this," Sango agreed, still walking a safe distance from Miroku. If there was one all-applicable rule among all of them, it was 'stay out of arm's reach.'

"Hmmmm," Kagome murmured, not really listening.

_What is that buzzing sound? _she thought, annoyed. _I thought it was just my ears ringing, but we're not even at high altitude yet. And my ears don't go louder and softer and louder and softer and so on and so forth, et cetera. And I'm going to drive myself insane narrating like that._

_It's coming from, _she concentrated hard for a moment, _there. _She guessed at a location on her left, and not that far away.

_Maybe if I find it, I can shut-_it-_UP! _she thought with unusual ferocity. _It's grating on my nerves._

"Guys," she started, breaking in on no conversation at all, "I keep hearing a ringing noise in my ears. Does anyone else hear anything?"

Everyone listened hard.

"I don't hear anything," Inuyasha summed everyone's unspoken conclusions up in his usual brash manner, ears twitching slightly. "You sure you're not imagining things?"

"It's too annoying to be imaginary. I think the source of it is over there." She gestured in the direction she'd guessed at before, lifted Shippo from her shoulder, and handed him to Miroku. "You all keep going; I'll catch up to you once I've turned it off or down or whatever I can do about it."

"Kick it. Hard." Inuyasha suggested. "And you shouldn't go alone."

"Inuyasha, really. We haven't seen sight nor sound of danger today. I don't think it's that far, and I would have sensed a demon. Go on."

He sighed but didn't stop her or follow as she made a sharp left turn into the denser forest off the path, making her way through surprisingly well.

"Be careful, Kagome," he called after her. She waved a cheerful response and vanished from view.

They continued on as she had requested, not overly worried. She could take care of herself, and one call would have brought them all running.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Not surprisingly, Inuyasha was the first to realize what had happened. He stopped short abruptly, eyes wide. An expression of confusion crossed his face, closely followed by shock, fear, and horror; a strange procession of emotions as he rarely showed such openly.

"Inuyasha, what's-" was all anyone could say before he cried out in despair, turned on one heel, and set off running at top speed back the way they had come.

It didn't take long for everyone else to guess.

'Something's happened to Kagome!" Shippo cried, voicing the thought they were all thinking. They hurried back as quickly as they could.

Finding them was easy. The odor of fresh-spilled blood drifted on the wind in overwhelming strength. Even the humans could follow it to its source; a barren circle, surrounded by tall stones, reminiscent of an arena- or a sacrificial altar, even to the blood staining the ground.

The source was equally, painfully obvious. Inuyasha knelt in the rough center of the clearing, crying bitterly but silently, holding Kagome's mangled body in his arms. He didn't seem to be aware of anything else.

Miroku, Sango, and Shippo stumbled back, unable to look for more than an instant.

"No…it's not possible…no…" Sango whispered, unable to form a coherent thought.

Shippo crept into her arms, petrified with horror. She hugged him tightly.

Miroku bit his lip hard and stepped back into the arena, feeling like being sick from the stink of death. He blinked hard for two reasons. To keep back the tears, and because Inuyasha had vanished. Kagome's body still lay there, but the half-demon was gone.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Despite their now deeply felt horror of the area, they continued on their mission to a remote location high in the mountains.

"She would have wanted us to go on," Miroku half-shouted when asked why they were persisting in their undertaking, several days after burying Kagome's body.

"What about Inuyasha?" Sango asked quietly. "We've not seen him…" she trailed off.

"We've heard him though."

She looked at Shippo, startled. "What?"

"You heard those sounds two nights ago, remember? We all heard."

"Shippo, those were the cries of a wild creature."

Shippo smiled without humor, and it seemed more like a grimace. The loss of his foster-mother had caused him to grow up hard, fast, and ice-cold. "Yes. So what? He's gone. He may still be alive, but probably not for long. And anyway," he gulped before continuing, "her loss will have shattered him. Even if we did find him, he wouldn't recognize us. And it was him. I know his voice when I hear it, and I know madness when I hear that too."

"Surely not…"

"Yep. So we go on?"

"Yes! We must!"

Suddenly, a shape materialized at the edge of their camp. It was humanoid in form, though distinctly reptilian, made evident by the flickering tongue and scaly skin.

"Leave these mountains, my territory, or I, Shikar, will be forced to make an example of another of your kindred," it- he- hissed sibilantly.

"Example…" Sango stuttered, then leapt to her feet.

"_You!_" she shrieked, adding (unprintable) obscenities and hurled her favorite weapon, her truly colossal boomerang, straight at the figure of Shikar. However, all her strength and rage were wasted, as the boomerang passed straight through the figure with not even a ripple to mark its passage. It sailed on and lodged in a tree with a formidable _thunk._

"I," Shikar's illusion affirmed happily, sporting a hideous approximation of a smile. "And I will continue to pick you off one by one for as long as you remain here. My borders are five hours straight walk from here, that way." He extended one finger, pointing in a direction slightly to their left. "You have until sundown- I am not unreasonable, as it appears you did not understand my first message. Now go."

Shikar's illusion vanished without a trace.

"So, now we know," Shippo gritted through clenched teeth. "And there's nothing we can do about it!"

Miroku sat down hard and buried his face in his hands. "We'll do as he ordered," he said in barely a whisper. "But next time we see him, if ever, he will _pay!_" he raged, shouting the last word. He rose and picked up his staff. "Let's go," he said dully, and began trudging southward, followed by Shippo, Shippo, and Kilala, who had been ignored recently and fully understood why.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

That night they heard it again; the horrible, empty sound of Inuyasha's, for so it must have been, cries; a horrifying mixture of wild beast and someone who had once been a person in more pain than he could stand. Miroku stuffed his fingers in his ears and hid under a blanket to cry. Sango wept openly, and Shippo curled into a little ball and stared into space.

Needless to say, no one got much sleep that night.

"I was thinking," Miroku said hoarsely next morning, "and even though it's not a good thought in any way, I feel that I have to say it." He fell silent and stared at his sandals like they were the latest in revolutionary anything.

"And…?" Shippo inquired finally, not in the best of moods.

Miroku mumbled something under his breath.

"Say what you have to say or just shut up in future," Shippo gritted out.

He looked up unhappily. "Mercy stroke," he said miserably.

No one had to ask for an explanation or elaboration, not after last night.

"We can't," Sango breathed, still shocked.

"Maybe we have to."

Sango bit her lip hard. "You really think it would be best?" she said, just before she hurt herself visibly.

"Yes," Miroku whispered.

She sighed and rubbed one hand over her face. "All right," she said finally, "as it seems life is determined to throw as much in our way as it can, let's help life out a little bit. We'll have to find him."

"Yes, and that will be hard enough. If he doesn't want to be found, he won't be."

"He's gone completely insane," Shippo pointed out. "He won't be worried about staying too hidden."

"We could hear him last night," Sango added resolutely, determinedly ignoring the ugly specter of truth that kept shouting that she was planning the execution of one of her _friends._ "And all of us can sense a demon's presence." She stood up; biting her lip so hard she began to draw blood, she continued, "Let's go."

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Despite their clear thinking, their ghoulish hunt wasn't as easy as they had first suspected.

First off, his normally active personality had vanished. Wherever he was, he was lying very, very, very low. Not only were there no rumors of a demon boy with white hair, no matter who they asked, there wasn't the faintest sense of his aura, and Sango and Miroku had excellent sixth senses for such. After a week, the three of them, and Kilala, were frustrated, tired, and depressed.

Second off, their very mission was depressing. No matter how many times they heard his wretched howling, (they hadn't heard it since the night before their decision) they still wouldn't look their goal in the face. The fact that they were setting out to kill their friend and comrade, merciful as it might be, was not one anyone wanted to consider too deeply.

Third off, the loss of Kagome had hit them hard. They missed her cheerfulness, her friendliness, and her in general. They'd become accustomed to their 'pack' as it had been, and before, even the temporary absence of one of them, for whatever reason, had thrown everyone a little off kilter. The permanent absence of _two_ made life feel wrong.

Before long, everyone was completely down in the depths of despair, depression, and plain bad mood. What was more, they were all spoiling for a fight.

"I HATE this!" Miroku finally shouted one evening.

"Yeah, well, you're not the only one," Sango muttered sourly.

"Hate it, hate it, hate it, hate it!" he ranted.

"Look, this was your stupid idea in the first place."

"Shut up," he snapped.

"Who made you the boss of the world?" she growled, balling her hands into fists and assuming a fighting stance.

He turned on her, mouth half-open, about to give her what-for, when a ripple in his sixth sense distracted him. From his companions' reactions, they had felt it too, at exactly the same time.

"There he is," Shippo muttered.

"Let's get this over with," Miroku sighed, grabbing his staff. "Wait, everyone. Try just to bring him down, knock him out. We don't want to have to strike the final blow if we don't have to."

The foursome (Kilala, remember?) moved out, splitting up and homing in on their sense of the half-demon.

Sango moved through the woods, riding Kilala in her transformed incarnation. Like this, the fire-cat demon was the size of a pony, and just as easy to ride. Kilala was better than a pony. She could fly. They made their way into the air and circled, trying to spot their quarry.

A blur of movement indicated someone's position. They dived to check it out. Avoiding tree branches as they plunged toward the earth, Kilala landed by a winded Miroku, who was leaning on his staff, half-propped against a tree. He nodded breathlessly, indicating that they were on the track of the right person.

"Went that way," he gasped, indicating the way they were already facing. "Lashed out at me, he did. Ah!" He gasped as a scratch on his cheek began to bleed suddenly. "Didn't recognize me at all…" he added before Sango and Kilala dashed off in pursuit.

Riding hard, they managed to cut in front of the fleeing half-demon before he could get too far away. Seeming somewhat startled by their arrival, he leaped backwards, landing on all fours and snarling. Sango didn't have to look any harder to realize that he'd gone completely mad.

"Sorry," she whispered, knowing that he most likely didn't understand her, and definitely didn't care, and let fly her boomerang. He dodged the missile agilely and turned tail, vanishing into deeper forest.

"Oh no you don't," Sango muttered grimly, catching her boomerang with great talent as it returned. She felt slightly better now, or at least no worse. It really was just another hunt now. She had seen for herself that her friend was, indeed, gone. Kilala leaped into the air and they followed from above.

Her sixth sense was strong enough to track him as he ran. They landed in front of him again, trying the same tactic twice. Normally that wasn't recommended in any situation, but she figured he wouldn't be expecting it, _as_ it wasn't wise.

He hadn't expected it. He stopped short in surprise, and her Hiraikotsu struck him squarely. He collapsed and lay utterly still.

_(Author's Note: Sorry. The Japanese was unavoidable, honestly. The English for Hiraikotsu is 'boomerang bone,' and, duh, it's the name of Sango's boomerang. Sounds terrible in above context. Pronounced hih-RII-coats, in case you care. **Le'letha.**)_

She dismounted and walked over to him, almost absently retrieving her boomerang from the air as it zipped back towards her. Kneeling, she could see that he was definitely unconscious, though still breathing. Her brow furrowed as she caught sight of long gashes across his throat, some still bleeding sluggishly.

_Miroku never did that; he doesn't carry a blade. Looks like he's been in a bit of trouble; unsurprising…_ she thought before realizing the truth. Horrified, she tested her theory, crooking her fingers like claws and brushing them gently across her own throat. The pattern matched exactly. Her eyes widened in horror and pity.

"Kilala," she called. The still pony-sized cat trotted over to her. "Fetch Miroku, and if Shippo's anywhere around, bring him too," she told her pet. As Kilala trotted off obediently, she turned her attention back to Inuyasha. She hoped he wasn't going to wake up before the others got here. She didn't want to have to strike him twice, though an overly perceptive corner of her mind realized that she was the only one with a blade. She hurriedly sat on that thought as hard as she could and started keeping a lookout for Kilala's return, one cautious eye staying on her lost friend.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Later that evening, the sky darkening towards actual night, they'd set up camp in the forest. Inuyasha still lay unconscious, bound in a powerfully Miroku-spelled circle he'd never escape. Sango, Shippo, and Miroku, whose cheek had been bandaged up, sat around a makeshift campfire, all keeping a watchful eye on their prisoner, all pretending they were doing nothing of the kind. Now that they had their quarry, nobody wanted to take the final step and actually draw a blade across his throat. An uneasy silence had permeated the camp quite a while ago, and had settled in to stay.

Sango rose and stretched. Kilala, back in cute-cat form, fell off her lap with an indignant squeak of surprise. Ignoring her pet's resentful miaows, which ceased when she realized she wasn't getting any attention, she wandered to the half-lit rim of firelight, and stared into the darkness.

_You have to do it, _she told herself sternly. _It has to be done._

Exasperated with herself, her companions, fate, everything, she kicked a rock, huffed at the sudden pain in her toes, and walked over to where Inuyasha lay still.

Squinting in the twilight that developed away from the fire, she saw with surprise that his eyes were open, the fire reflected in them. He didn't even blink once. Simply stared into space.

_On some level, no matter how deep, he knows he's caught; it's over, _she realized. _And he doesn't care._

She set her jaw firmly and turned to her friends. "It has to be done," she said, giving voice to her inner debate. "I'll do it. Miroku. You raised this barrier; I need you to take it down."

"I don't need to," he said. Thankfully, his voice remained steady. If it had quavered, she would have lost her nerve. "It won't affect you, as you're human."

She nodded resolutely and drew her sword. Stepping through the circle of spells, which didn't have an effect on her at all, she knelt beside him and set the blade to his throat.

He still didn't move. _He really doesn't care, _Sango thought torn between pity and horror. _He wants to die._

She stared into his eyes. They didn't flicker; gave no indication that she, her sword, or anything existed. Suddenly, an image flashed before her eyes. Inuyasha as he had been before Shikar, powerful, half wild, although really half Kagome's pet, annoying, but _alive. _

_Shikar…_ she thought, _will pay. I will make sure that he will be punished._

"Poor wretched creature," she murmured, "you can hear me. I can't know what you have gone through, but I offer a way out. I'm sorry for what I'm about to do, but it must be done.

"The one you hunt is called Shikar. Go! Find him! Make him pay for what he has done," she continued, raising her voice. She sheathed her sword abruptly and kicked out backwards, breaking the circle of confinement. "I command you. Bring him down, and take your revenge."

She stepped backwards quickly as he rose. She'd been gambling, but it appeared that he had heard her words. Now, if he understood…that was different.

He looked around at the four of them, his eyes…different. She didn't know what she read there. Perhaps… there was someone behind those eyes now. Moving backwards slowly, never taking his eyes off them, he vanished into the darkness of the night.

"Sango, what did you do?" Miroku asked, shocked. "I thought we were going to put him out of his misery."

"I thought so too. But then I realized that if we killed him, Shikar would never pay for what he has done to us. All of us; the whole pack. We can't bring him to justice, but if my words got through to him, Inuyasha can. And, at the very least, he might now have a reason to live."

Miroku shook his head. "Maybe what you've done is best. I honestly don't know. But I hope you're right."

"How will we know?" Shippo asked.

"We probably never will."

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Several months later, Sango, Miroku, and Shippo were still traveling together, attempting to complete their original mission. One evening, Sango walked alone to the nearby stream to get water for the night. It wasn't too far by her reckoning, but it was out of earshot of camp.

As she knelt to fill her bucket with the cold, clear water, the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Dropping the container quickly, she drew her sword and assumed a fighting stance.

"Put that away," a half-familiar voice growled behind her. "You missed your chance to use it months ago."

Her eyes widened, and she turned. She had correctly identified her visitor. Inuyasha stood a safe distance from her, face like stone.

"What did you think you were doing?" he hissed before she could say a word, face twisting into a mask of rage. "Did you think you were doing something kind and noble? Don't answer that, I know already. I'm not sure whether to hate you or not."

"Don't hate me," she replied meekly, somewhat frightened. "I…felt sorry for you. I wanted you to have a reason to live."

"I didn't want one! I still don't want one! Did you ever think of that! No. But now there's no choice. Do you realize what you have done?" Blood dripped from a gaping wound in his throat, but he kept speaking furiously. Clearly, he couldn't die by his own hand, though he'd just as clearly tried. "A reason to live is not as strong as my reason to die." He paused. Sango couldn't say a word.

"Shikar will die before I do, though. You have my word on that."

He turned and vanished, leaving Sango staring petrified at the place where he had been as tears rolled down her cheeks.

None of them ever saw him again.


	7. The Hunt Is Up

**Chapter Seven: The Hunt Is Up **

Hermione stopped reading; clearly the story now followed other paths.

The last two sentences she had read aloud echoed in all their ears.

_What have I done?_

_What have I done?_

"That…was horrible…" Ron breathed in shock.

"But we understand now; why he is like he is, why he's spent half a millennium hunting down Shikar, why he howls with grief like a wild beast." Hermione said sadly, flipping through Sango's skilled illustrations. She paused at the picture of the captured Inuyasha lying uncaringly still. How Sango could have brought herself to draw it was beyond her, but it had struck her to the bone.

"You were right; I feel like cheering him on, now. But I'm still afraid of him, and I'm not embarrassed to admit it."

"But Ron is right. We are right in the middle of this. You especially, Harry. I know you're not fond of hearing it, but you are his bait to lure Shikar here."

"Shikar may not return, now," Ron figured, 'being as Inuyasha blew his cover when he attacked the illusion of Shikar. They knew each other's faces; Shikar obviously didn't want to confront him, or he would have before, or would have that evening. It's been five hundred years. That's a lot of potential death-matches that haven't happened."

"True. But he's Voldemort's ally," Harry pointed out, shooting Ron's theory into the ground and ignoring his whimper. "And Voldemort does not like failure. He'll discipline Shikar, then send him back, with threats of greater punishment for future slip-ups. Despite the potential, well, definite, threat to his underling. Besides, if Shikar's all that powerful, Voldemort-shut _up,_ Ron- may by now appreciate the chance to get rid of a potential threat to his authority."

"I never thought of that. And if we're airing out-on-a-limb theories, how's this for one? Do we even know for sure that Shikar's that powerful? Apparently no one's seen but one demonstration of his power. And like you pointed out, Ron, he turned and ran rather to confront Inuyasha. Couldn't it all be hot air?"

"Hermione, that is the most ridiculous, risky theory I've ever heard," Ron fidgeted. Sometime during their discussion they had risen and ambled over towards the Forbidden Forest, and they were now actually somewhat close to its outskirts. "If you're right, we're home free. If you're wrong, we're dead meat. To prove your theory, there's a fifty-fifty chance we're dead meat. That's too many 'dead meat'-s in the odds for my liking."

"You would be, as you so aptly put it, dead meat," someone broke in. the voice was familiar, though it was now colder and harsher. The threesome whirled around, startled. Standing in the fringe of trees that designated the fringe of the Forbidden Forest was the half-demon they'd last seen in hot pursuit of Shikar, arms folded with his hands hidden in the voluminous sleeves of his cloak. He was watching them-and, obviously, listening to- them with an air of complete scorn, tempered by simple indifference.

"Inuyasha," Harry said. It wasn't a question or a greeting so much as a simple indication of surprise.

"Nick talks too much. As much as you hate it, you're wrong. Shikar has all the power you've heard of, and probably more."

"What do you mean, more?"

Inuyasha's cold eyes focused on Ron, who'd asked.

"Shikar's a high-ranking demon, like me. No demon with any sense shows all his skills in one fight. And he's eluded me for an eternity. Clearly he's more than he seems."

"You're only half a demon," Hermione, stickler for facts, corrected.

He shifted his gaze to her. "I heard some familiar names not long back; that's why I got up and came over here. I had forgotten Sango kept a diary, but evidently someone translated it. Sango was a perfectionist about details."

Hermione gulped, clearly knowing where he was going with this.

"My blood's never made a difference. It's one of the advantages of a Demon Lord for a father. Shut up," he concluded abruptly.

"Sorry," she apologized.

"You." His hands emerged from his sleeves. One long, sharp-clawed, index finger snapped out at Harry. The other fiddled absently with the beaded collar he wore about his neck. "Shikar's coming back. Not for a while, but he's coming back. When that does happen, be warned. Don't make the mistake of thinking that- even though my warning's a little late- because you are, at the moment, valuable alive makes any difference once he's here. Once Shikar is here- and he will come himself next time- you are of no use whatsoever. So don't go looking for my protection when Shikar next shows up. Once he's here, it doesn't matter if you're alive or dead."

"So you're saying that my safety's not your problem. And how did you know I was thinking that?"

"A month or so around your way of thinking is enough to teach me exactly how you think. And get used to the protection issue, whelp, it ain't gonna change." Inuyasha vanished as abruptly as he had come.

"I forgot he knew everything Nick did," Harry muttered, staring after him, although there was nothing to indicate which way he'd gone.

"That was weird," Ron breathed. "He is really, really, not normal."

"No duh, Ron," Hermione scolded him. "We got off really easy there, you know. He's a little bit touchy about his human blood. I can't believe I said that. But we're still valuable to him, and I think- though these are pure speculation- that this was one of his saner moments, and that he was happy to hear those names again. The memories may be painful on some level, but they were his friends, the only ones he's ever had, probably."

"We're not going to see him again for a while," Harry speculated, still scanning the forest. "Not until Shikar comes back."

"Who cares?" Ron asked rhetorically.

"Probably no one. Hermione, are you going to lend that book to Nick? He'd be interested, I know."

She shook her head. "Professor Dumbledore wanted it, remember?"

"Oh yeah, forgot."

"I'd better go give it to him before _I_ forget. Thanks for reminding me." She headed back up to the castle. Rather than be left alone by the Forest- even its outskirts were dangerous- Ron and Harry followed her.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Two weeks passed without trouble. Nick returned to class by the very first Monday, and brushed off his sojourn in the hospital wing with a fluff story of an accident. He added that he didn't want to talk about it, because it was too embarrassing.

"That stupid, huh?" Seamus chuckled.

"You have no idea," Nick replied fervently.

Indeed he did not.

It seemed that nothing would happen, current-disaster-wise, any time soon. Those who knew of his presence all but forgot the demon lurking (probably quite literally) somewhere in the Forest. Though it occasionally revisited the back of his mind, Harry managed to set aside the recent crisis. Still, the situation returned to his awareness more than once. Mainly it was just in idle curiosity about what was going to happen next, but the most abrupt reminder occurred during a dream he had one night.

He had been in the middle of something completely stupid, something involving chairs, a staircase, and a dancing cake from the evening's dinner. In his dream, he turned his back on the entry hall, where he had been watching the confection do its dance, and set out across the grounds in the darkness. As he went on, the dream became less and less ridiculous, and more and more cold and wet. All too soon, he approached the Forest. By that time, he was fairly sure that this was no dream, and the fact that he could think that, as he'd never been able to do that in an ordinary dream, only confirmed it.

_Bother, _he said in his dream, still not in control of his feet. _Ok, who's behind this? _

_'Behind this' is a cruel term for it, _an unfamiliar girl's voice protested. _I just wanted to talk with you, and this is the best way I could work out._

His feet stopped of their own accord, and set themselves firmly into the ground, clearly quite happy about getting there.

_(Author's Note: Ignore that too. I'm trying to make it seem still vaguely dreamlike, and phrases like that _will _continue to crop up. Call it my sense of whimsy. **Le'letha.**)_

She began to materialize in front of him, growing from a flicker in the air to a semi-solid representation of a teenage girl by degrees. Harry waited patiently, not that he had a choice. His feet had pretty much established their own independent nation by now. Luckily, he was used to talking with ghosts, as this girl pretty obviously was one.

When she had finished becoming visible, a fact only evident by the indication of no further changes occurring, she locked her grey-brown eyes with his hazel ones. He was beginning to recognize her.

_I wanted to talk with you before whatever's going to happen does just that. I'd far rather talk in the waking world, but I'm not there anymore. You'd figured that out already, hadn't you? _she accused.

_Yes. I recognize you. What did you want to say?_

_I wanted to say, look out. Things are coming to a head, and before long, a clash is bound to occur. The warning's in vain, because you won't remember this, but it was worth a shot. N-_

Whatever the ghost had been trying to say, it was cut off when she abruptly vanished. Harry's dream renewed its nonsense act promptly.

As it turned out, she'd been right. He had no memory of the part of his dream with her in it, although he did remember the dancing cake. Isn't the human mind wonderful?

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

One evening, Friday evening, Harry, accompanied, unsurprisingly, by Ron and Hermione, wandered out onto the grounds after dinner. As it was late in the year, it'd gotten dark quite early, and there were already seemingly millions of stars. However, it _was _nearing winter, and that meant that it was getting quite cold outside. The three of them were nearly the only ones out there. Although they'd been assigned homework by their Astronomy teacher homework consisting of free-time stargazing, few people were taking the opportunity to do it now.

"Brr…" Hermione muttered to herself as she stared up at the sky. "I wouldn't be surprised if it snows this weekend."

"Not cloudy enough though," Ron disagreed. "It's just cold."

"What's that?" Harry asked uneasily. A patch of darkness blotted out some stars, leaving a small hole in the night sky.

"What's what?"

"Look! There! And it's moving…"

The void was indeed moving; indeed coming closer. As it approached, growing larger and more distinct, it took on the shape of a vaguely spherical 'bubble' of darkness. Rapidly, it soared almost overhead, revealing that it was in reality a bubble, albeit black as pitch, and just as ominous.

Common sense would dictate immediate flight, probably screaming bloody murder. Unfortunately, the trio found themselves held in place by an unknown force.

The bubble hovered for a moment, then abruptly began to descend, collapsing to earth not at all far away. It disintegrated into a smear of shadow on the lawn. From its crash point, a figure rose, all too familiar.

"Shikar," Hermione muttered.

"Yup. He's back," Ron agreed, under his breath.

Shikar moved towards them with the same smooth pace as before. As he approached closer and closer, they could see that nasty marks festooned his lizard-like skin. Evidently his punishment had been…severe for failing in his original strike.

Silently, but angrily, the demon strode toward them. His hands, which had been clenched into fists, sprang open with an ominous _shhllk_ noise, like that of a blade being drawn.

"I will not retreat this time," he hissed. "This time, you're mine!"

Abruptly, he stumbled, nearly falling flat on his face. Blood dripped from his shoulder, staining the ground.

"What the…" he snarled, reaching up to touch his wounded shoulder. He held up his hand in front of him, looking at the blood that covered it, then shifted his gaze to the open lawn.

"I'm glad you're back, it saves me the effort of going after you," Inuyasha said more happily than they'd ever heard him before. His eyes, however, were completely insane.

"You…I killed you!"

"You can't do anything right, can you? Can't even finish off a long-dead half-breed."

Shikar's face grew dark. "Long-dead?"

"I died five hundred years ago…when you murdered her!" Inuyasha shouted, springing into the air. Shikar met him in midair, and they collided hard.

Unnoticed, Harry, Ron, and Hermione found that they could move again. However, their fascination with the battle and their sympathy for Inuyasha kept them exactly where they were.

Shikar fell to earth with a wince, landing awkwardly on his side, favoring a shredded left arm. However, he'd been using the other one with painful accuracy.

Inuyasha picked himself up without even a twitch, though the pain from his wounds must have been extreme. Baring sharp fangs in an inhuman grin, he sprang into motion, hurtling towards the lizard-demon lying wounded on the ground.

Shikar lashed out hard, catching him full-on and hurling him away. As the half-demon struggled back to his feet, spitting blood, Shikar fled across the grounds at a remarkable pace for one so wounded, leaving a dark trail of blood.

Inuyasha muttered something the audience of three did not understand, but it sounded extremely foul. Despite his injuries, he dashed off in hot pursuit.

They didn't discuss it; they didn't have to. Without debate or second thoughts, Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed, running as fast as they could to keep up with him. In the darkness, they could barely see him; he was remarkably quick on his feet, and he had quite a head start.

Suddenly, Shikar's voice could be heard, shrieking something definitely unintelligible. A huge, ominous rumbling sound, like that of the very earth shifting, began in response to his summons. The ground shook, nearly knocking the three to the ground. They stopped short in order to keep their balance, and stared in astonishment.

Shikar stood with arms raised, chanting in a monotonous half-growl, half-whine. His fingers twitched, and the earth beneath him twitched in accompaniment. Before their eyes, a section of ground rose to impossible heights and roiled like a boiling pot. It twisted itself into a sheer cliff, and seemed to turn to stone.

Though this takes a little while to describe, it was in fact really in the space between two heartbeats that the earth began to move in response to Shikar, and that half an instant later, he was gone, fleeing desperately into the darkness of the cave that had remained at its base.

The literally earth-shaking events of the last second didn't even faze Inuyasha for a nanosecond. Not even pausing to be sure of his footing, he headed down into the bowels of the earth after his mortal enemy.

"For the record, this is a bad idea, and we will regret it," Hermione mentioned, taking a deep breath.

"Not another deep dark hole," Ron moaned. "Why is it always a deep dark hole?"

"We'll figure that out later. Come on!"

They followed hunter and hunted into the aforementioned deep dark hole, knowing that they could do little but watch in a death-match five hundred years in the brewing, but feeling compelled to see this out to its inevitable conclusion- the death of one of them- or both.


	8. Those That Darkness Takes

**Chapter Eight: Those That Darkness Takes**

It was a deep dark hole, with all that implies. Shikar, in his haste, had evidently not been much for originality, and his newly-created cave was festooned with such clichés as dripping noises, slimy walls, and portentous darkness.

Harry slipped before he'd taken three steps, and only a quick windmilling of arms saved him from a painful crash. He would have looked mighty stupid were there anyone to see him, but luckily no one could see anything in the pitch-darkness.

A faint _swish_ing sound betrayed Hermione's drawing of her wand. She muttered a light-spell and held it up as the tip began to glow faintly, then brightly.

Their eyes, already adjusted to darkness, were stabbed with skewers of light. They all raised hands to shield their eyes, then lowered them slowly as they adapted.

The wand-light illuminated a dusty path before them, winding down and down into the earth. Water dripped down the slightly slimy stone walls, gradually eroding away at them. Stalactites hung from the ceiling, and though stalagmites thrust up from the ground all around, a clear path remained, the dust of ages disturbed only by the tracks of the two who'd preceded them down…and down…and down.

Behind them, the entrance quietly sealed itself, unnoticed until Harry looked behind them cautiously. All that was left was a rough stone face, innocuous enough until you realized that it had been the only known way out.

"Well, I guess the only way to go is down," he said, trying not to sound scared. In fact, he was pretty spooked; though it was scant consolation that he wasn't the only one. Oddly, his voice did not echo, and indeed sounded slightly muffled.

The dampening effect, however, could not completely deaden the sound of an explosion from further on, testifying to the extreme power of it at the source, and reminding them all why they were there.

"Hurry," Hermione whispered unnecessarily. "We followed to watch, let's make sure we get a chance!"

They moved carefully down the passageway, relying on the illumination of Hermione's wand. It did not take long for them to notice that the sounds of battle ahead were getting louder.

"This is random, but has anyone looked at the tracks we're following?" Ron asked suddenly.

"No… ha ha." Hermione glanced down and smiled. One set of footprints, clearly Shikar's, were without detail and showed only the basic shape of a human foot, as if someone had traced a foot with a stick and left it. The others were exactly what you would expect of a dog-demon- as if a human and a dog had walked in each other's footsteps, leaving each print intact, but fused.

Abruptly, they emerged into a gigantic chamber, as big as a sports amphitheater, but rougher, wilder, and made of a randomly patterned stone, probably slate. Their exit was higher than the 'ring' floor, like a balcony or spectator seats. This upper circle, nearly seven feet wide, encircled the entire arena, which lacked the smooth, even quality of human sports. This ring was studded with projecting stones and deep hollows, as unevenly as possible. The entire arrangement was that of a battlefield, unerringly accurate.

Shikar stood warily against one large smooth stone, back against it as he watched his nemesis warily. Still dripping black blood onto the sands, he nevertheless stood with his long claws slightly raised, ready.

His adversary was in no better condition. Sprawled limply against the sheer face of the edge of the arena, he didn't seem to be still alive. He lay in a dark puddle of sand stained so by his own blood. As incapacitated as he looked, Shikar was finally taking him seriously, and didn't relax his guard for a second, even though Inuyasha looked pretty dead.

'Dead,' however, didn't seem to apply to Inuyasha. Dead in the way that mattered most, he wasn't about to lie down and give up because of a few, or many, physical injuries. He pulled himself to all fours and stood for a moment, breathing heavily.

Slowly, his tortured breathing slowed, then stopped for a brief moment. As Shikar and the three students watched, he sighed, and relaxed. Suddenly, he rose to his feet and looked straight at Shikar triumphantly. In response to the lizard-demon's baffled expression, he held up one arm. Bloody gashes across it stopped bleeding, and vanished.

As the atmosphere in the room grew less oppressive, something that hadn't happened in centuries happened. Inuyasha smiled, happily and sincerely, the expression of someone who need worry about nothing, who stood safe and content with his friends. That expression changed his entire demeanor from madman to wild child, half feral, half completely and utterly tame.

"Shikar, there's a reason you won all those years ago," he said, and his voice was different too. It was the same voice, yet, paradoxically, that of a different person, one who hadn't run mad for five hundred years. "Because she was on her own, because we were parted, you could bring Kagome down,"

"We were down, but not out, Shikar. We'll beat you yet," his sentence was finished. Beside him, a girl phased into existence. They'd never seen her save in sketch, but she was instantly recognizable, especially by the smile she and Inuyasha exchanged fleetingly. Kagome raised her bow, strung and loaded, and smirked at Shikar's shocked expression.

"You didn't expect this, huh, Shikar? You didn't watch us enough; you never realized- where Inuyasha walks, I'll follow. This time, we're together again, this time, you're doomed!

She let her arrow fly; it flew true. However, Shikar quickly dodged to one side, grasping the arrow in one scaly hand. An instant later, however, he shrieked and dropped it. It had begun to glow blue with eldritch fire, scorching his hand painfully.

Taken unaware by the arrow's flame, he was fatally distracted, allowing Inuyasha and Kagome to go on the offensive. Leaping high into the air, the dog-demon unsheathed his sword, the first time Harry, Ron, and Hermione had seen him do so. To their shock, it immediately transformed into the biggest sword they'd ever seen.

Unnoticed by the combatants, Ron breathed in awe, "That thing's probably taller than I am! No way he can swing that-"

Instantly, Ron was proved very, very incorrect. With a triumphant cry, Inuyasha swung the sword hard, though he was nowhere near Shikar. As it turned out, he didn't need to be within reach. Whirlwinds blasted from the giant katana's blade and hissed through the air, striking Shikar powerfully. The shocked lizard-demon was thrown through the air. He hit a dangling stalactite hard as Inuyasha returned to earth, holding the oversized blade with ease.

"And take that, Shikar," he smirked happily.

"Ok, your comebacks still stink," Kagome chuckled, stringing another shaft.

"Yeah, but he's not listening anyway, so it doesn't matter."

Shikar was not, in fact, listening. He was more preoccupied with picking himself up off the ground and staring in shock at Inuyasha's blade.

"Whelp, what is that sword! How come you haven't used it before?"

"What, Tetsusaiga? Come and find out!"

Shikar seethed furiously, still glancing sideways in shock at Kagome (or her ghost). Cautiously, he raised one hand, clenched into a fist, in front of him, cocked sideways. He opened it abruptly, sending out a wave of darkness towards the two.

A moment later, he did a little angry dance of rage on the spot as a glowing arrow sliced right through it. In the next moment, he was forced to stop and erect a hurried barrier as Inuyasha used his sword to send the attack right back, turning it on its creator. The ink-black wave spent itself on a glowing wall of light.

No one at all was paying attention to Hermione, Harry, or Ron. Completely ignored on the ledge above, they were reduced to following each move on the battlefield, and looking utterly unsettled.

"This is getting really dangerous," Hermione muttered to the boys. "I thought they were just going to fight hand to hand, but power like that, that sword, and…Kagome's ghost… is taking things too far. I say we get out of here. No curiosity's worth this danger."

"We don't have a choice," Harry said tensely. "The entrance sealed itself, remember? I don't think anyone's getting out until this is settled, one way or another."

"I forgot about the entrance," Hermione admitted. "I really do not feel at all safe, though."

"When have we ever been safe?" Ron asked rhetorically. No one answered him, but that was okay, because he didn't expect an answer.

Back on the battlefield, for such it was, the two sides had halted. Shikar faced his foes, trembling slightly. For all his power, the reappearance of a victim of five hundred years ago, a full-on battle, and Inuyasha's strange, abrupt return to sanity had rattled him. He clearly wasn't used to direct battle, whereas his foes had nothing to lose, and had faced many battles like this, though never with this specific enemy.

The three stood still, locked in a standoff, facing each other directly. For an instant and an eternity, no one moved.

Though they were watching closely, none of the trio could say later who moved first. Certainly Shikar, flustered out of his composure, attacked most obviously. Crying out in rage, he unleashed a torrent of blinding light, bleaching the entire cave red-gold. The brunt of it, however, was of course directed at Inuyasha and Kagome.

"Die! Die and disappear and plague me no more!" he shrieked.

"No! You die! And shriek out your existence beyond the gates of Hell!"

"It's over, Shikar! We strike you down together, as we always ever were!"

Almost in unison, clearly a move that they'd perfected over many battles, Kagome fired her shot, straight down the center of Shikar's desperate blast. The arrow flew hard and true, and sunk itself to the fletching in Shikar's chest. He had just enough time to touch it in shock and look up in fear and realization before his own edge-of-desperation attack, thrown back upon his by Inuyasha's Tetsusaiga, hit him with the force of half a millennium of grief and hatred.

The cavern echoed with his final shriek of disbelief; disbelief that two he'd thought dead and defeated could bring him down. Disbelief that even those in their graves had risen up against him. Disbelief that he was-finally- helpless, powerless, at their mercy. And they had no mercy for their tormenter, the one they'd hunted so long.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

When the spots faded from their eyes, Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked up, breathless with the shock of the near-apocalyptic battle they'd witnessed. Below on the battlefield, Shikar's body lay, eyes wide in shock and fear, staring up at the ceiling in eternal astonishment. Kagome's arrow still protruded from his chest, sparking slightly in what seemed a bit too much like smug satisfaction.

Looking around, they saw that the arena had been shattered. Fragments of slate lay everywhere; stalactites and stalagmites had fractured into shards and were scattered across the sand-covered floor. Amidst it all stood Inuyasha and Kagome, who was still present. They stood in each other's arms, clinging to each other as the only hope in their dark world. Although they spoke quietly, still their voices could be heard. If they knew the trio was there, which they probably did, they didn't care.

"I can't believe we did it…you are avenged. It took so long."

"My poor Inuyasha. I'm so sorry for what you had to go through."

"Wasn't your fault."

"But I'm still sorry. I can't stay…you know that."

"Take me with you."

"What?"

"Take me with you. I don't want to stay here anymore. I never did, save to avenge you. That's done. I'm coming."

She laughed quietly. "Still my same old stubborn Inuyasha. I do love you so."

"I know. I love you too."

"You would never have said that before."

"Maybe I've finally grown up a little. You kept teasing me about that."

"I did. You're so easily tease-able."

"You've always gotta have the last word. Let's go, beloved."

"Yes. We're finished here."

She shifted one hand slightly. Before anyone could realize what she was doing, - and it was likely none of them could (or would) have stopped her- she pulled a small, bright dagger from her long sleeve and drew it across Inuyasha's throat.

As he collapsed, she vanished into smoke, then faded away altogether. Before the sense of her presence vanished completely, a second ghost-like presence joined her, and they faded away together.

Until now motionless on the balcony, Harry and his friends finally found the will to move. Hermione clapped one hand to her mouth and said something along the lines of 'oh, oh…' but as she was speaking more to herself than anyone else, no one minded that it didn't make any sense.

"I don't believe what just happened," Harry said firmly, gazing at the two bodies below. "I don't know whether to forget about it or hide under my bed and hope nothing like this ever happens again."

Disregarded, Shikar's body began to crumble into dust. As he vanished, something more ominous began to happen.

"Uh, has anyone noticed…?" Ron started quietly, then gave up and shouted, "The ceiling is falling!"

So it was. And there was nothing to do but run like mad up the stone corridor and hope to high heaven that the entrance was back. What they were going to do if it wasn't was something no one mentioned. Not only did they not want to bring up the subject, they were running too fast to bother with speech.

With their usual dumb luck, the entrance, now an exit, had re-manifested itself, though it gave them a few moments of heart attack when they saw only a wall of slate. Luckily, Harry, annoyed and a little bit spooked by the cave-in sounds from behind, whacked it with his fist, and it crumbled into dust along with everything else.

They tumbled out in a heap, all tripping over each other in their haste to get out of there. It was, however, most humiliating that by then, although a little bit belated, Professor Dumbledore had gotten wind (finally) of what was going on, and had dashed down to the grounds to investigate. They ended up sprawled on the floor in a three-person pileup, covered in dust and dirt.

"As relieving as it is to see that you are all alive, I must admit that I am rather impatient to find out what's going on _this_ time," he said coolly.

"Nothing's happening, professor," Ron said before anyone else. "Anyone who would make something happen is dead."

Dumbledore's eyebrows nearly shot off his face at that. "This is going to be an interesting story," he hypothesized. "I'm sure you are anxious to stand up and tell it."

The three hurriedly untangled themselves and scrambled to their feet, trying futilely to brush of accumulated grime.

"Well what happened-"

"You see-"

"Um, well-"

The three spoke in unison, tripping over each other's words and stopping short all at once.

"You tell it," Hermione said, pointing at Ron.

"Who, me? No way, you tell it." He pointed at Harry.

"Why do I always have to tell it?"

Eventually, they got their story sorted out and actually managed to tell it in some form of order. Luckily Professor Dumbledore was used to very, very weird narratives, because about halfway through, they realized that had _they_ been hearing this story, they would have shipped themselves off to the nearest mental hospital locked in nice soft straitjackets.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO **

One Month Later:

Perhaps annoyed at the loss of his ally, Voldemort was lying low. Well, he'd been lying low for something-odd years now, so nothing really had changed.

Shikar's cliff, erected in such haste and collapsed before too long, had done just that- collapsed. However, no one had bothered to move the rubble from the lawn. As it was out of sight of the castle, it wasn't of utmost urgency, but perhaps no one had been able to. Demonic power does strange things to human magic. Often it isn't even affected.

Nick, of course, was the second and last person they told their story to. As Professor Dumbledore had specifically requested, well, ordered, that they not tell anyone what had happened, he was the only one they could tell. And, naturally, he was curious. Conversely, he wasn't really surprised by even the most 'out-there' parts of the tale they told.

"I had a feeling something like that was going to happen," he said calmly. "Not the bit about the ghost, but I was pretty sure that no matter win or lose, he was going to die. If he lost, Shikar would kill him. If he won, what reason would he have to live? He wouldn't even have his revenge anymore."

"Still," Hermione said, "it's sad."

"Not really. I think it was better so. Excuse me a moment."

Harry walked alone down on the lawn to look at the humongous pile of rocks that marked the grave of two mortal enemies. Oddly, his current thought- which he could not shake- was 'glad it wasn't me.'

"Figured you'd be down here."

"Hey, Nick. How'd you know I'd be here?"

"I guessed. I'm mostly right."

"Whatever. I was just thinking that this is a poor grave for them."

"Shikar deserved it. And anyway, he doesn't have a grave. You said his body dissolved."

"Yeah. I did say that."

"But anyway, I was thinking. I was thinking that if anyone ever tried to excavate this, and I don't recommend that, demonic magic is _weird_, they'd still find two bodies."

"What? What do you mean? And how do you know? And don't tell me your 'guesses' are usually right, because that's one far-out guess."

"I don't know, so I am guessing. The reason why is this. I saw it when I first came to look at this. Don't ask me how it got there, because I didn't do it and I have no idea who did."

Nick stood on tiptoes and tapped one flat piece of stone. Harry, who was slightly shorter, backed up slightly to see what he was showing him. Etched into the stone, faintly but distinctly, was a short verse.

_Sleep in peace beneath this stone;_

_As one in soul and mind and heart;_

_Nevermore to stand alone;_

_Death itself could never part._

**THE END **

**_Le'letha _**

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**Afterword:** Wow, you stuck it all the way through. Thanks. What do you think? Ok for a first fanfic? If I repeat myself with phrases, sorry. I do have favorite phrases. And if anyone got sick of 'deep dark hole' so-_rry! _Go through the HP books- there is always at least ONE deep dark hole _some_where. Why break with tradition?

Ok. I am done with tragedy-fics for now. Now I'm going to write something Star Trek! Bring on the Delta Quadrant! Here comes _Voyager_! _Whoosh!_ (plays with little Voyager model I got for Christmas) Oh yeah, I was talking. I forgot.

Depending on reviews I may write more Inu-Yasha or HP fics. My brother suggested, "what happened to Shippo?' Me: 'hmmm, Nick meets Shippo…" Him: 'Aaaahhhh!'

_P.S. The phrase 'half-blood prince' just screamed 'Inuyasha' so I had to try it out._

_**REALLY THE END THIS TIME, **_

**_Le'letha_**


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